The Best Laid Plans
by Championship Vinyl
Summary: SEQUEL TO "TAKING THE MONEY." Takes place the following day. This time, it's their son's turn to consider their lives in a whole new light.... Another dream, another alternate possibility.... Please read! Please review! Ya know ya wanna!
1. Dream A Little Dream For Me

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**Hi, and welcome to my first sequel. I'll be your flight attendant for this evening. Plese keep your arms and legs inside the website at all times. XD**

**This is the sequel to one of my more recent stories, "Taking The Money." If you've read TTM, skip this paragraph. If not, here's the rundown: Anya and Dimitri's 14-year-old daughter Tasha had a dream about what would have happened if Dimitri had accepted the Dowager's reward and Anya decided to take the crown. (Actually, you really could've gotten that from the story. Oh, well. :P)**

**Now, after hearing his big sister's tale, 9-year-old Mikhail (Mikey) is about to find out something even bigger. So what's the big "what-if" _this_ time? Well, if you don't already know, you'll just have to read to find out. X) Enjoy. **

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"No way. _That's_ what would have happened?"

Mikhail slapped his spoon down into his food for the fiftieth time and gave his fourteen-year-old sister a disbelieving stare.

"I guess," Tasha replied, reaching for the bread---fresh from the bakery, of course, because neither of their parents had any cooking skills whatsoever. Their mother was all right with the stove now and then, but to put their father in a room with food and appliances was like _asking_ for an explosion. "That's just how the dream went, anyway."

"But mom wouldn't have said yes to that guy---would you, mom?"

Anya gave her nine-year-old a look, and followed it with a sly glance at her husband. "Eh, you never know."

Dimitri glared right back at her. "I'm sorry, was that supposed to make me jealous?"

"That depends---is it working?"

"This entire conversation is about something that _never happened_. I don't think that applies."

"Then no."

Outwardly, Dimitri dropped the subject, satisfied. Mentally, he made a note to get back at her later.

Mikey was oblivious. "But what about everything that happened on the bridge?" Ah, the famous Bridge story. A bedtime favorite since both the kids had been too young to talk. "Wouldn't that have changed their minds?"

"I don't know, okay?" Tasha said. "It was just a dream---I couldn't help what happened. All I know is, we were talking about what would've happened if mom took the crown and daddy took the reward, and I had a dream about it. The end. Can I eat now?" She stuck her tongue out at her little brother, and Dimitri was trying desperately not to laugh.

Mikey helped himself to Tasha's piece of bread as payback. "I still think it would have gone different. In _fact_, I bet I can think of a better 'what if' than _you_."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah...like...." Mikey thought a second, and then the light bulb went on. He smiled triumphantly. "What if there was no seige at _all_? Yeah! Like what if mom just kept living at the palace and papa kept working there?"

Tasha had no comeback for him this time. She looked to her parents. It was a good question.

Anya kept focused on her plate. "All yours, hon."

_Gee, thanks._ Dimitri had a look on his face that seemed to tell his children they wouldn't exist. "Well.... If that were the case, then I would still be---"

"Right where you are," Anya interrupted. "I picked you. Nothing could have changed that." She stared at him in a way that emphasized her meaning.

"Oh yeah? Come _on_, Anya. Your mother would never have allowed that to...well, for us to be...I mean _me_...." He sighed. "Think about it!"

"It would've been more difficult," she conceded.

"Public scandal's more like it."

"But I stand by what I said. You were always important to me."

"I can see the headline now," Dimitri carried on. "'Servant Boy Banished From Country: Tsarina Still Laughing.'"

Anya rolled her eyes. She knew he must've taken in what she said, because if he'd still had a problem he'd still be acting serious. Which he wasn't. "All right, you guys, quit rewriting history and go wash up. You're done."

"Yesss!" Mikey jumped out of his chair and raced for the staircase, thinking about his new theory the whole way, and nothing else. It was his turn to see the story for himself.

_You can't plan what you dream about,_ he thought, _but a nudge in the right direction can't hurt_.

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**No seige? No problem. Just a little unlikely, maybe, that he'd have the same thing happen, I know, but come on. This is fiction, not rocket science. Haven't you ever found that the last thing you think about at night is the first thing you dream about? Works occaisonally. Anyway, I have to say I love this "dream" angle---you can change the past, and anything goes. ;D You know how I love reviews!**

**_Here we go again...._**

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	2. Imperial Russia

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**'Kay, the boy's sawing logs, stage is reset, fade in, aaaaand, _action_. Forget I'm even here. You are in the winter palace, on a cold, familiar night, not so very long ago....**

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Nothing could ever glow more than this night. No number of lamps could match the warmth, no thousand fires equal the noises of gaiety and life, nothing begin to resemble the pure radiation of love and joy.

Three hundred years of happy rule had all come down to this night, this party. All the grandest citizens of St. Petersburg and beyond were dressed in their traditional finest, and dozens of dancing bodies filled the floor before the guests of honor, the Romanov family.

As the traditional music reached its thunderous crescendo, a lighthearted father lifted his youngest daughter into the air and swirled her around, to her cry of "Oh, Papa!" If it weren't for their manner of dress, one would never have guessed this was them.

THe girl glanced up the platform and saw her grandmother beckon her over. Excited, she took leave of her father and ran past her sisters to the old woman's side.

"I have something for you," the Dowager Empress said, reaching into her purse, and extracting a small sphere of gold.

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Over the past year he'd gotten used to this door---just not from this side. Taking a bite of the apple he'd swiped from the kitchen, the boy scanned the room---it was grand, all right, but he'd seen it before---and his eyes fell on his friend talking with her grandmother. Mezmerized by this side of the world, he watched until he felt someone grab him from behind. He kicked to break free, but if the man in the suit had said it once, he'd said it a thousand times:

"Dimitri! You belong in the kitchen!"

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"For me? Is it a jewelery box?"

Marie said nothing, only smiled and produced a thin gold necklace, which she used as a key in the front of the small gold box. After a few turns, the lid raised open, and a tiny replica of the Tsar and Tsarina began to dance to a familiar melody.

"It plays our lullaby!" Anastasia gasped.

"You can play it at night before you go to sleep," Marie explained, "and pretend that it's me singing."

Taking her granddaughter's hand and twirling her to the music, the older woman began to sing along.

"_On the wind,_

_'Cross the sea,_

_Hear this song and remember_..."

Now Anastasia's young voice joined in.

"_Soon you'll be,_

_Home with me,_

_Once upon a December_."

Finishing with a bow, Anastasia laughed, and then her grandmother handed her the key, the necklace. "Read what it says."

The girl held the pendant comically close to her face and crossed her eyes in an attempt to make out the small engraving. "'Together In Paris,'" she read. And then she got it. "Really? Oh, grandmama!" Anastasia threw her arms around her grandmother, and Marie laughed.

But the laughter was quick to stop. On the far side of the room, the crowd was clearing a path in shock and in silence. The man they were making way for was tall, unkempt, and vile looking, and the grin on his face was enough to sicken the strongest of men.

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Somewhere behind where the women were shrinking back from the unwanted visitor, Dimitri gasped too. Maybe he'd picked the wrong moment to sneak back out.

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Nicholas stepped forward within the instant. He would deal with this monster, only him. Not his family. "How dare you return to the palace!" he roared.

The old monk, nkown to most as only Rasputin, feigned surprise. "But," he laughed, "I am your confidante!"

"Confidante---_ha!_ You are a traitor! Get out!"

Rasputin had posed a test, and Nicholas had failed. "You think you can banish the great Rasputin? By the unholy powers vested in me, _I_ ban---"

"No!" Nicholas interrupted. "You haven't the right to do _anything_. You have abused your power and have lost my trust. You are no longer welcome among my family. Guards! Guards!"

Two burly Imperial officers swooped in from either doorway and clamped down on an arm each, escorting Rasputing from the premises.

"Unhand me! Mark my words, _Nicholas_, you have not seen the last of me!"

In his wild attempts to free himself, the reliquary he'd been holding fell from his hand and dropped silently to the floor.

"Wait! No! _No...!_"

His last cry echoed through the silent ballroom, and all eyes fell on the Tsar once the madman was out of sight.

Nicholas looked up at his family, then out at the crowd. Finally he spoke. "Now, now. This is a celebration!"

With that a cheer rose up from the people, and the party resumed. Exhausted, Nicholas walked back to his wife and children.

"Is he gone?" asked Olga, his oldest daughter, still only fourteen herself.

Nicholas nodded. "For good, this time."

The three duchesses traded looks of releif, and the fourth rejoined the group by running up and bear-hugging her father. "You did it, Papa! That mean old man's gonna be locked up 'till he's a hundred and twelve!"

"Let's hope so, _malenkaya_," Nicholas laughed, when a third guard appeared from off the platform. He had his grip on the back of a young boy's collar, and Anastasia was both concerned and amused---_very_ amused---when she saw who it was. The boy glared back.

"Your majesties, this _servant_ has been caught shirking his duties to observe the royal ball," the guard announced. "What shall be done with him?"

Nicholas grinned. He studied Dimitri---he was just a child---noticing both his wife's apprehension and his youngest daughter's interest. He shot Alexandra a look. _You worry too much, Sunny._

"Give him one of Alexei's suits," the Tsar decided, and winked. "He can't possibly attend a party like _that_."

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**(FYI: "malenkaya"="little one.") I don't care what people say, fit to rule or not, Nicholas was a kind man and a fine father. I hope my interpretation of him lives up to that. So, so far we've eliminated the Romanov Curse and carried on with life as normal. But will it still _be_ normal? Will the servant and the princess get their Happily Ever After? Will Alexandra meddle? Will Rasputin succumb to life in a cell, without his powers? Consider this the prologue. It's only just begun.**

**Review.**

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	3. Tea And Toleration

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**(True facts here: all the Romanovs did keep diaries. The girls did share rooms, one for the oldest pair, one for the youngest.) Anyway, sorry for the slight delay. Here's chapter three, takes place about six months post-non-seige, just barely long enough for everyone to be the next age up, not that exact timing really matters here because it's still a dream... Without further ado....**

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Maria, the second-youngest of the Romanov daughters, always enjoyed waking up quietly and peacefully in the morning. It was unfortunate, then, that she shared a room.

First she felt two elbows on her bedspread. Then came the whisper. "Pssst. Mashka."

Maria rolled over and pretended to be deep in sleep. She regretted that in a second, though. This time wasn't a whisper.

"_Mashka!_"

The eleven-year-old duchess bolted up, coming face-to-face with her nine-year-old sister. "_What_, Anastasia?"

"Tatiana and Olga went for a walk with mama. Let's sneak into their room and find Olga's diary!"

"That's stupid, Anastasia. I'm not doing that," Maria said, laying back down and pulling her pillow over her head. "Why don't you get your little friend to help you?"

"I don't need help, I just want the company. And he's _your_ age," Anastasia pointed out. She changed the subject, knowing her fraternization with the servants wasn't exactly encouraged. "Anyway, I'm going with or without you," she informed, arms crossed.

"So go, then."

"I will."

"Fine."

With a shrug, the girl slipped from the room, leaving her sister alone in the silence she'd been wanting all along.

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Alexandra was not a patient woman. Good actress, yes. Fair, yes. The Empress, the Tsarina of Imperial Russia, yes. But patient, no.

Still, she postponed tea and sat calmly until her two tardy oldest daughters entered the room.

"Sorry, mama," Tatiana and Olga both said, almost in unison. They hurried to their seats.

"What kept you?"

Tatiana looked down, breaking eye contact with her mother. "I...I..._misplaced_ my diary."

Alexandra looked to her eldest. "And you?"

"Well, I...must have misplaced mine too, I guess." Now it was Olga's turn to look away.

While the Tsarina prepared her tea, Maska whipped around to face Anastasia and mouthed the words 'You took them _both?_'

The littlest duchess tried not to giggle.

"You girls must learn to be more mindful of your posessions," Alexandra was saying.

Olga glared discreetly at her youngest sister. The one whose shenanigans were infamous. "Oh, we have _some_ idea where they might be."

"Yes, Anastasia," Tatiana added, stirring her tea, "where were _you_ this morning?"

Anastasia averted her eyes, dodging her sisters' questions. But Maria had no intentions of being subtle. A grin spread over her face. "_I_ know where she was this morning."

Anastasia shot Maria a look, but she was too smug to stop now.

"Oh? And where was she?"

"She was---"

A foot connected with her shin under the table.

"---with me. All morning."

Anastasia smiled her innocent smile, triumphant.

"So," Alexandra began, looking to each of her young daughters. "Have you girls any plans this afternoon?"

"_I_ planned to begin my advanced lessons with Monsieur Gillard," Olga declared, obviously proud of the privileges that came with being the oldest.

"I was going to paint with mama," Tatiana informed her sisters.

"If it's okay," Maria said next, "I was thinking of taking a book from Papa's study and reading down by the fountain."

"That will be fine," Alexandra decided with a nod of her head. Then she turned to the youngest of them again, and the girl found herself wishing she wasn't next. "What about you, Anastasia?"

"Oh, I'm just going to play in the gardens for a while," she said, being as nonchalant as possible.

The Tsarina, however, knew her daughter. "Promise me there'll be no mischeif, Anastasia."

Anastasia crossed her fingers under the table. "I promise."

"Are you...meeting anyone?"

The young duchess gulped---her mother knew more than she'd expected. "No." But seeing Alexandra give her that look, she took a different route. "Well, I mean, Dimitri was going to come out for a _little_ while, but..."

"Who?" She knew, all right, but she could at least _hope_ for a different answer.

Olga set her teacup down and picked up her napkin, the very definition of 'ladylike.' "The servant boy, mama."

"You mustn't keep him from his duties, Anastasia." _Lord, not that boy again._

"But he's finished! He doesn't have to go back until almost supper." She wasn't actually sure whether or not that was true, so she kept her fingers crossed just in case.

"Wouldn't you rather paint with Tatiana and I?" Alexandra tried.

"That's okay, mama. I sort of had plans. It's okay with you, right?"

_No, no, no, no, no...._ "Of course, dear," she managed, but it still didn't sit well with her.

The rest of the tea was sipped in silence, and after a polite amount of time had passed each girl stood, kissed her mother on the cheek, and left the room.

Anastasia followed suit, but not before pulling a folded note from her sleeve and slipping it into her empty china teacup.

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"Honestly, the way you behave. And after all the Romanovs have done for you. They've _fed_ you, they've _clothed_ you, they've---"

"Kept a roof over my head," Dimitri droned. Scrubbing dishes with Kharitonov was never his favorite activity.

Kharitonov glared down at him. "How is it you can remember all that, but you can never remember that _pots_ go on the left, _china_ goes on the right?" He pointed to the stack of washed and dried dishes Dimitri had just finished. "Do it again."

With a sigh, the boy dismantled the pile and built it over, and no sooner had he finished that than the new set appeared on the counter.

"These are from the Empress' tea---they need washing, and maybe a quick polish would do," the serving maid informed no one in particular.

The kitchen autocracy being such, the tray was wordlessly deposited in front of Dimitri, the youngest on staff under fourteen.

"Get to it, boy."

_Get to it,_ he thought as he worked his way through each plate and spoon and cup. _Yeah, I'll get to it all right. YOU get to it. One day you'll be calling ME sir---what do you think of THAT?_

But then, as he reached for another one, his hand brushed up against a small piece of paper. A smile came over the boy's face, and, turning his back to the others, he plucked the sheet out of the cup and unfolded it, reading every word.

_Three-thirty? I can do that._ It was a good thing, he decided, that he knew all the exits.

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**So basically this just shows life carrying on as usual, at least so far....;) Please review, I wanna know what you liked. Thanks.**

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	4. What The Years Have Done To Us

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**Time-jump alert. This is six years after the last chapter. OTMA = 21, 19, 17, 15, D is 17, and even though I haven't metioned him yet (I will), her little brother is 12. There are a few more facts I want to clarify now that I'm dealing with actual Romanov history, in a way, here: Kharitonov was actually a staff member, he was the Imperial head chef. Olga did deny suitors to stay with her family. Tatiana was known to be the quiet one. Etcetera. Go on, keep reading! **

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"Cover for me."

Anastasia was hopping around the room, gathering her things and begging her sisters for yet another favor.

Olga sat at the desk, flipping throught the book of signatures from the last party. She rolled her eyes at her little sister. "I want no part of this."

"You don't even know what I'm planning!"

"Exactly. Ignorance is bliss."

"You _never_ say that."

"It is in _your_ case."

Tatiana spoke up from over by the beaureau. "I'll cover for you."

All three of her sisters stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

Tatiana shrugged. "What? I don't always have to be the goody-goody." Then, as the others went back to their business, a sly smile came over her face. "Besides. I think it's cute."

This time it was Anastasia's turn to be shocked. "_Cute?_"

"Oh, you know. Our little sister sneaking out to be with a boy. It's adorable."

Anastasia shook her head, resuming throwing things in and out of a knapsack. "_Please_. It's not like that with us. Dimitri's my best friend."

Instantly she felt six blue eyes burn into her, and she re-phrased.

"_Besides_ you guys."

Maria put her novel down and sauntered over to her sister. "I think you like him," she cooed.

"Mashka---"

"The duchess and the kitchen boy!" Maria continued dramatically, swooning like an actress. "Whatever will the people say?"

"She's totally in love," Olga agreed. "And it's about time."

"I'm only fifteen," Anastasia defended, "I am _not_ in love, and besides, Olga, weren't you supposed to get married last month?"

Olga turned beet red. Pretending not to care, she stated, "He wasn't my type and he smelled like a fish factory."

"You're twenty-one and you still live with mama and papa."

"When did this conversation become about _me_?"

"Anyway," Anastasia concluded, throwing her knapsack over her shoulder, "that's ridiculous. He's my friend, and you all can just drop it at that. Or mama and papa will suddenly find out why Baron Androven left."

The three blushing sisters traded a guilty glance, while the youngest Nicholaivna opened the window and threw one leg, then the other, over the sill.

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Kharitonov had a sharp eye. He didn't even have to look up, in fact, to notice that the stack of unwashed dishes was nearly as tall as he was.

He sighed. Eight years of dealing with this kid, from a bratty nine-year-old to the seventeen-year-old rebel that he was, had him longing for a vacation. Especially now that the little twerp had developed some kind of badly-hidden affection for the youngest daughter. "I don't want to have to alert the Tsar of your lack of work ethic, Dimitri."

No response.

Approaching the fortress of ceramics, Kharitonov peered around the side. Sure enough, the boy was gone. Again.

"Aaagh. You!"

A passing maid stopped in her tracks and looked up at him, surprised.

"Tell the staff to take over for me for the time being. I'll drag him back here myself."

With that, he stalked off, leaving a very confused maid and a tower of china quivering in his wake.

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_Me and Dimitri. Ha. Can you believe that? It's crazy. They don't know what they're talking about._

Anastasia couldn't stop ranting to herself all the way across the estate. Especially after the disturbing conversation she's heard from her window, moments after reaching the ground.

_She's just in denial,_ Tatiana had been saying. _Sooner or later she'll realize it._

Olga had agreed, adding, _I don't know what she sees in him---what's the point? He's a servant. It would be forbidden._

_He's not even her age,_ Maria had pointed out. _If anyone should have a crush on him, it would be me. After all, I'm the one who's seventeen._

Her older sisters' chorus of agreement had left a knot in Anastasia's stomach. She found herself blaming Maria for the whole conversation, and the thought of her closest sister and her best friend together was...well, she didn't want to think about it. Not that she was _jealous_. No. She wasn't jealous. How could somebody be jealous over something that didn't even happen that might get in the way of something they didn't even want? No. Jealousy was not on the table.

And so what? So what if Maria liked him? So what if they got together? So what if they grew up and got married and moved far away to rule some obscure foreign country and had forty-five thousand kids and grew old together? She'd be _happy_ for them, that's what she'd do. She'd be _ecstatic_. She'd babysit.

Of course, she realized, she'd have to clobber Dimitri if they ever broke up. And then she'd have to kill Maria for hurting him. In fact, that would be first on the list. He was Dimitri. _Her_ Dimitri. Maria would just have to understand that.

_Whoa whoa, hang on a second. Why am I obsessing over this? It was just an innocent comment. Mashka couldn't care less about him. Why am I doing this?_

_Oh, my God. I'm jealous. I am._

_But why? Why? Does this mean I like him? Like Olga said, it would be forbidden. He's a servant. I'm a Grand Duchess. But that never stopped us from being friends! But that's right---he's my friend. It could wreck that. If I did. I mean, I guess it's not like I've never thought about him like that before...what if he's thinking the same thing? What if he's been thinking it all this time? Or what if he hasn't? I don't even know what I'M thinking anymore._

Anastasia had too many thoughts and was running out of garden. She realized as she approached the old tree that what she _really_ needed was to sit down. That, and she was gonna kill her sisters.

But as soon as she saw Dimitri, waiting for her by the trunk, she was relaxed. All thoughts of confusion and stress drifted away. They were wrong. With him, she could just _be_. He was the only real, non-related friend she had, and he would stay that way.

"Hey, _somebody's_ late," he greeted.

"Sor-_ry_, Mr. Punctual, I was in the middle of a...conversation."

He nodded to the tree, the one that had grown to be both their favorite. "You first?"

Nodding, Anastasia went toward him and got a good grip on his shoulders, and stepped into his hand as he boosted her up to the lowest branch. They'd done this a thousand times over the years, and by now the routine was easier than breathing.

Once she was about halfway up, Dimitri followed her up from the other side. "Do you ever think we're getting too old to climb trees?" Anastasia mused.

Dimitri made it to the top and sat on the highest branch. She was already there. "Not for a view like _this_. I don't think you can ever be too old for that."

The two of them sat there for a long while in an understading silence. Formality and titles, rank and society between them had fallen away long ago, before it was ever even established. They were born on opposite ends of the ladder, but that had never stopped them from sharing a thought, an afternoon, a branch.

Silence had been what they both needed, and before they knew it, an hour of it had passed, as had the sun. Finally they started back down the tree, and they jumped the last two feet to earth.

"You know," Anastasia mentioned, dusting off her skirt, "I can't even _picture_ any of my sisters climbing a tree. I'm not even sure they _can_."

"I don't know," Dimitri smirked. "I bet Maria could beat you with a little practice."

Something about that was unnerving. It was like when the needle dropped on the record. Everything peaceful and calm about the last hour tore in half, and Anastasia went off. "How would _you_ know?"

He looked a little startled, raising his hands in defeat. "Easy. I was kidding."

"That's funny to you? Well you're hilarious. The two of you can just laugh about this for _hours_. What kind of sick conspiracy _is_ this?"

"Cons---"

"Oh, she is _good_. 'Oh, it's so cute!' 'Oh, what will the people say?' It was _her_ the whole time. I can't believe I was so stupid!"

"Anastasia---look, this is just a wild guess, but is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, no no. I'm fine. I'm an _idiot_, but that's okay. _Look_ at me---I'm going crazy over nothing. _God_, what _is_ it about Maria? You'd probably rather have been with _her_ all day."

"Whoa, whoa, I would _not_ have rather been with her. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like your family, but _they're_ not my best friend. _You_ are." Dimitri had no clue what was going on, but he didn't like seeing her upset like this. Taking her by the shoulders, he looked straight into her wide blue eyes, and she looked back. "Okay?"

He was talking, but he wasn't exactly listening. Something was making him regret looking in her eyes like that, and it was the same thing that wasn't letting him pull away. When she nodded, the breeze tossed her red hair against his arm, and he noticed that too.

She was nodding, but she wasn't exactly listening, either. Why was he looking her like that? Why was he comforting her insted of telling her _You're crazy, get over it_? When did he get taller than her? Was his hair always like that?

"I, um...." Dimitri wasn't sure how or why he was talking, but he managed. Sort of. "I think maybe..."

"Yeah." Neither of them noticed they'd been getting closer. "I have to...ask you..."

"Yeah?"

"Something...."

And suddenly going back was impossible, because the space left between them was gone. Hidden as they were in the evening shadows of the tallest tree, their kiss was unexpected, innocent and slow, nothing like either had ever experienced.

Just as slowly they pulled apart. Their eyes met again.

Dimitri was the first to speak, which he considered a major accomplishment since the combination of joy and disbelief was clouding his better judgement. "Wow."

"Whoa."

"I know."

"Yeah."

"So...?"

"I don't know."

"But what about...?"

"I don't know!"

"_Dimitri!_"

That last word hadn't come from either of them. Instantly they both looked up, and discovered Kharitonov a good thirty feet away, holding up a lantern and scowling to high heaven.

"_Dimitri!_"

Anastasia looked back up at him, and this time she was smiling. "I should get back inside."

"Yeah, and I..." Dimitri looked back at Kharitonov and gulped. "Am due for a lecture."

"Well, then I suggest to spare you another one we keep this a secret," Anastasia laughed. Turning to run back across the lawn, she stopped, and turned back to him, beaming. She knew what she wanted now. Half shouting, half whispering, she added, "Meet me tomorrow?"

Dimitri decided to accept just in case he was actually awake. "Definitely," he nodded, and the young duchess turned once more and scampered for the palace, her skirt swirling behind her in the night air.

Knowing he was in for it, in more ways than one, Dimitri forced the smile from his face and trudged back to Kharitonov. Anastasia, however, made a mental note that she owed her sisters for life.

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**XD !!!!! Yay! I know I got them together rather quickly this time, but the topic isn't just 'would they have still been together,' it's 'what would have _happened_.' Thank God for sisters! XP More is on its way ASAP, and I will _promise_ you that you will _not_ see the next chapter coming. Please review!**

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	5. Retribution

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**'Kay, here ya go.... I warned you.... X)**

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Three streams of light, just three, poured their way into the dimly lit room from between heavy iron bars. Something was dripping in the corner, but nobody could be bothered to find out what it was---this wasn't a place where these things were a priority. This was dark. This was an unwanted sanctuary.

This was the People's Prison of Moscow.

An old monk lay on the bench, staring at the ceiling, marking his seventh year in that room. Though it wasn't so much a _room_ as a _cell_. A heavily guarded cell.

"And here I lay," he said to himself. His thoughts often veered in and out of being said out loud. "Powerless." He laughed. "I am reduced to nothing. Nothing! I have no feelings, whatsoever...."

His delusional soliloquy was interrupted by a _ping_ sound and that of someone clearing their throat. Rasputin sat up and looked around, but no one was there, no guard had come to summon him for supper.

"Uh, hi there. Up here."

Rasputin grinned a giddy grin. He knew that voice, that bizzare, wonderful little voice. Looking to the window, he saw his little winged old friend perched next to one of the bars.

"Bartok!" he gasped. "Is that you?"

"In the flesh, there, master. Say, you're looking pretty good! Could use some daylight, though---I hear the vitamin K does wonders for a body, sir."

"Why didn't you come sooner?"

"Well, you are a difficult one to locate, sir, you know, being relocated to the highest-security prison in the country and all. That and---well, what can I say, the Poconos is lovely this time of year."

"Seven years, Bartok," Rasputin continued, off on a tangeant of his own. "Seven years I have rotted away, in this miserable solitude!"

"Well, then have _I_ got the solution for _you_. It's just the thing for you, sir. I brought souvenirs."

Rasputin watched as his little bat friend flapped out of the window frame and back up into the room. He carried a handkercheif in his claws that had been knotted into a sack.

"Okay, here we go." Perching on the bench, Bartok rummaged through the contents. "Ooh!" He pulled out a seashell. "This one really reminded me of you sir. It's shaped kind of like your head I think, all though the ears are a little off---"

With a sigh, Rasputin flopped back onto the bunk. "Don't bother, Bartok. I'm in no mood."

"All right, all right," the little guy surrendered, "I figured you might say that, so I brought a little something I _know_ you're gonna like. Time to pull out the big guns."

Bartok dissappeared out the window once more, and this time when he returned, what he held was a lot more valuable than a handkercheif.

It took him a while to drag the ancient glass cylinder through the bars, and the second he did, Rasputin snatched it up in his bony hands. "How did you get this?"

Bartok shrugged. "Eh, I just picked it up off the floor right after you dropped it. Nobody seemed to notice it was gone, so---wah!"

Rasputin had already grabbed Bartok and was swirling him around. "Bartok! You are _brilliant_! This is...this is _wonderful_!"

"Uh, wow. I tell you what, wow."

"Finally, my revenge can be fulfilled!"

"Hang on, hold your horses, there, boss," the bat interrupted. "Don't tell me you're still stuck on that old Romanov feud."

Rasputin paused in his celebration to give him a leveling stare. "You know what they say," he said sarcastically. "Old habits die hard." He began to dance around the room, Bartok still in one hand, the reliquary in the other. "It is time for the sun to set on the royal family!"

"Oh, brother."

"It's the end of the Romanov line at last!"

"Here we go."

"But how best to crush them?"

"Aaaaand, again with the crushing."

"Oh, well," Rasputin decided, "first things first." Holding the reliquary up close, he stared into the fog inside that was rapidly beginning to glow a vile shade of green. "My old friend. You've been _dying_ for your chance, haven't you?"

The little creatures within the glass stirred in agreement.

"Now, now. Not yet. All in time."

Grinning evilly, he approached the bolted door of the cell and peered out of its tiny window. "Oh, gentlemen---could you do me a small favor?" he sang. "I assure you I'd most appreciate it."

Both the half-asleep guards outside the door looked to each other in surprise, then at the haggard face behind the bars. Finally, the one said, "Depends on what it is."

Rasputin chuckled to himself. "It's quite simple---all I need from you is the keys."

"Ha! Like I haven't heard _that_ one before."

"You crazy?"

But Rasputin didn't say anything in return. Instead, the guards never noticed the two streams of ghostly green minions venting from the window. Each formed into a rope, and circled the throat of a guard.

"Such a shame, boys," the old monk grinned as the two outside tried to breathe. "Always doing things the hard way. Now you will pay for your loyalty to the Tsar."

Changing colors, the larger guard gasped, "We'll...give you the...keys...."

"I thank you for that, I really do---but you know what? I think I like it better this way."

At that, the guards fell to the floor, and that was the last they remembered.

The ghoulish ropes dissolved, and the minions swirled around the door, disintegrating the heavy bolt before funneling back into the reliquary.

Rasputin pulled up his hood, and all but the white of his teeth and the yellow of his eyes were veiled in black shadow. "Come, Bartok," he said, filled with a sick new kind of joy. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

The bat gulped, cowering below on the bench. "Uh, _we?_ Where, uh, where are we going?" he asked, dreading the answer.

The unholy man just smiled his sickening smile. "To St. Petersburg. It's time to pay the Romanovs a personal visit."

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**Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! XD Toldja you wouldn't expect this. Also, keep in mind that Rasputin is 100% alive. He did still sell his soul for the reliquary, but he never died on the ice, so he's not all...disconnected like he was. Next chapter, back in St. Petersburg. Reviews please!!**

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	6. Isn't It The Best?

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**We're back in St. Petersburg now. The morning after the meeting in the garden. Oh, and the "Sunny" thing is true too. (Nicholas is so awesome here.) XD Go on...**

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"Good morning, Sunny. Sleep well?"

Nicholas strode into his wife's personal sitting room to join her for a morning cup of tea, as he often did after breakfast on days he wasn't too busy. Sitting across from her with the morning's newspaper, he waited genuinely for an answer.

"All right, I suppose," she sighed, stirring her tea with more force than neccesary. Nicholas noticed this.

He smiled. "Something troubling you?"

"No, no, it's just..." _Oh, fine._ "Don't you think it's improper for Anastasia to be spending so much time with that kitchen boy? I worry about that girl."

The Tsar chuckled. "_That's_ what's bothering you? They're just children---it's good to make friends at that age."

"But they're _not_, that's just it! Or they won't be for long. Have you forgotten that Anastasia is fifteen now? What if they end up together? What if we're allowing that?"

"Well," Nicholas said as if giving it a great deal of thought, "if that were the case, I'd have to take the boy fishing."

"Stop that!" Alexandra threw her grinning husband a motherly look and set down her teacup. "Is this a joking matter to you? Our daughter could be throwing her life away."

"But _her_ life is the operative word, Sunny. The decision is hers. They are not together, not yet at least, and should they ever cross that bridge, we'll deal with it then. No life is thrown away when it's spent in happiness. All right?"

Alexandra nodded, calmer but no less worried. "Whatever you say. Sometimes I wish I could look at these things as easily as you."

"Ah, you're far too stubborn for that," the Tsar joked, and a mauve cushion hit him in the head as he reached over for the cream.

They were quiet for the next few minutes, after trading a smile and passing the sugar, and were content with this until the sound of humming reached them from the hall.

As it grew louder, Nicholas recognized the tune as "Once Upon A December"---his mother's lullaby of choice---and the voice as his youngest daughter's.

Right on cue, Anastasia floated into the room. "Good morning, mama," she sang, swirling first over to Alexandra, then to Nicholas, kissing them each on the cheek. "Morning, papa."

"My! Someone's happy this morning."

"I just slept well, that's all," the youngest duchess explained before breezing back out the door.

Her sisters knew better, though, judging from last night's chorus of "I kissed him I kissed him I kissed him" right after climbing back through the window. There'd been so much squealing that none of them were sure they could hear correctly. Yes, they knew, all right, and mum was the word, especially now as they filed into the room, staring after Anastasia as if she had three heads.

"Good morning, girls," Alexandra greeted.

"Good morning," all three said, trading that look and trying not to giggle.

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Two hours slid away, and Anastasia couldn't take it anymore. She snuck downstairs to the service wing and up to the kitchen door, opening it just a crack, quiet as a church mouse.

"This behavior of yours is dispicable," Kharitonov was shouting. He had his back to her, and she knew that Dimitri had to have been in front of him. He was taking it without a word. "You have no _respect_, no regard for the job you were given, no gratitude, and I'm _sick_ of it. You are _confined_ here. Do you understand me? _Do not leave this kitchen!_"

"But, I---"

"Enough! Get back to work. _Now_."

Kharitonov stormed away, and the kids' field of vision to each other was cleared. Anastasia waved, and as soon as Dimitri saw her he went to work, all right---on the stack of dishes nearest the door.

"Hey," he whispered.

The duchess smiled. "Hi," she whispered back.

"I'm sorry, I can't get out," he shrugged, running the water a little harder to muffle the conversation. "It looks like I'm stuck here for a while."

Her responding whisper had a devious ring to it. "It's okay. I can get you out."

Dimitri managed to give her an amused look without turning his head. "What are you planning?"

"You'll see."

At that, she slipped away, and the door clicked shut in her place.

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"Olga."

"No."

"Olishka..."

"No!"

"_Please?_"

Olga stood up and tried to leave the room, but Anastasia was blocking the doorway. "I am _not_ going to get your _boyfriend_ off duty for you, okay?"

"But you're the only one who could pass for mama!"

"So why don't you just ask her?"

"Yeah, right, like she'd ever help with this. Can you picture if I told her? She'd explode. _Please_, Olga? I'd owe you. Huge. Please please _please?_"

With a sigh fit for an actress, the older sister pushed past the human barricade and walked down the hall, but not toward the stairs. Instead, she headed for the telephone in the hall.

"Yay! Thank you thank you thank you!"

"Ssh." Olga picked up the receiver and dialed down to the service wing, waiting for someone in the kitchen to answer. Finally a maid picked up. "Yes---the head chef, please."

"Remember, you're mama," Anastasia whispered.

"Ssh." Another pause, and then Olga lowered her voice just the tiniest bit, sounding like a perfect copy of Alexandra. "Yes, hello. This is Alexandra speaking. Yes, actually. One of the apprentices is to be released from work for the afternoon. Dimitri. Yes, that's right. Him. Yes, I'm sure. Well, I don't _care_ what his orders were. These are his orders now. Why is he being released?" Thrown off by the question, Olga whisper-repeated it to her sister, expecting an answer quick. "Why's he being released?"

Anastasia thought fast. "He's, uh...he's got family coming to visit."

"His family is coming to visit him today," Olga relayed into the phone. "You wouldn't deprive a minor of his family, would you, comerade Kharitonov?" Anastasia snickered. "I thought so. And Kharitonov? I think it would be wise of you not to question me again. Yes. Yes. Thank you." She hung the phone up. "There. Are you happy now?"

Anastasia threw her arms around her sister. "You're the best, Olishka!"

Olga just watched as the girl ran off down the hall, presumably to wait outside the kitchen, and smiled, shaking her head.

.

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Dimitri had to keep himself from laughing from the second Kharitonov approached him, biting back jealous rage, and informed him that he was free to go until supper. He wished he had a camera, or a really fast caricaturist to capture that face for him.

Still, he had more important matters waiting for him. Flying out the door, he ran down the hall, and there she stood. There she was.

"Hi. Again," she said with a smile, stepping out from the wall.

"Okay. Good."

Anastasia was confused. "Good what?"

"I wasn't dreaming yesterday," he replied with a grin, putting his arms around her. She held him too.

"I can't believe this," she breathed.

"Me either."

"I mean---" she looked up at him now "---it's _us_. You know? We've been best friends the last eight years, and now...."

"I know. It's a pretty big move." Dimitri moved back to get a good look at her. "But we're still us, right? That didn't change. Are you...are you sure you want this?" He was terrified the answer would be no.

She wanted to say _yes_, but first, she said, "Are _you_?"

Picking up her hand, Dimitri decided to tell her the truth. "Well, yeah. I mean, I...well, for a long time now, I've..." The next part wasn't quite ready to come out, even thought it was true, so he moved on. "I've thought about this. It's always been you, Anastasia. If you want me, I'm in."

"You know what?" He decided to take the shining look in her eyes as good news. "I do. This is good, I really think so."

"Really?" He was kind of surprised that had worked.

But her mind had already been made up. She laughed. "Really. So we're in this?"

"We're in this."

They were doing that whole 'moving-closer-without-noticing-it' thing again. A reenactment of the night before seemed imminent. "Should we try this again?" Anastasia whispered. It was definitely a rhetorical question.

Dimitri smiled, knowing he could never have been good enough to deserve this. Not the palace thing, not being best friends with a Grand Duchess, and especially not having his best friend fall for him. Somewhere, some kind of angel had to be getting its wings. "You know what they say about practice," was the last thing he said before their second kiss shut them both up.

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**I wish I had an Olga...XD But we all know everything can't be this perfect for long.... The Romanovs still don't know about their daughter's relationship, there's a madman on the loose, and when the heck am I going to mention Alexei??? ;) You'll see. Review.**

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	7. In Life And In Line

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**Okay, so sorry for the long wait. You might want to re-read the last few chapters to refresh your memory first...all though, if you're just now reading this a few weeks/months later I don't suppose it would make a difference.... Anyway. I worked in Alexei's hemophilia without actually _mentioning_ it, and I also worked in the nickname thing because I wanted the option of not having to call her Anastasia all the time. This chapter takes place about one month after the last one. Read on.**

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Being promoted from dishwasher to server really had its benefits. Not being stuck in a room with Kharitonov would probably be the first, all though not a day went by where Kharitonov didn't remind him that it was solely due to age, not skill, that he was promoted at all. That, and one of the old ones had retired.

Dimitri walked down one of the residential hallways of the palace, tray in hand, and knocked on the door he hoped belonged to the Tsarevich.

"Come in," came the reply.

Pushing the door open, Dimitri was relieved to see Alexei propped up in bed, waiting for his breakfast. He'd only been on the job for two weeks, so he was still a little fuzzy on which room was which.

Of course, then he realized he forgot to bow upon entering---part of the job---so he did. "Your highness."

Alexei rolled his eyes. "Dimitri..."

"I know, I know, but the door's still open," he explained in a whisper. The formality was just for show. Alexei had known him for years, thanks to his connection with his favorite sister, and hated titles just as much as Anastasia did.

Shutting the door put them both at ease, and Dimitri pulled a chair up next to the bed, handing the heir his tray.

"Thanks."

Alexei had been a pal to him, kind of like the little brother he'd never had. He knew that Alexei looked up to him, which amazed him, considering it should have gone the other way around. Then again, if _he_ had to live with four sisters, he'd probably crack too.

"So, kid, how you feeling?"

The boy's condition was known throughout the palace, but he downplayed it well. "I don't really have to stay in bed---it's just a precaution. Mama's idea," he explained, offering Dimitri an orange. He only took half.

"How long this time?"

"Just for today, I think."

"Good."

"So," Alexei started, a mischevious look in his eye, "are you dating my sister yet?"

Dimitri choked on his orange.

"It's okay. I won't tell anybody," the twelve-year-old laughed. "I think it's great."

Once he could breathe again, Dimitri looked the boy over. He couln't keep the 'caught me' grin off his face. "Are all of you this bold?"

"Not in front of mama," Alexei joked back. "Anyway, I just call 'em like I see 'em."

"You, uh..." Dimitri was stuttering now. He hated when that happened. "You've..._seen_...uh, what, what have you seen exactly?"

"Relax. Just the way she acts. And you're not the best hider on the planet. I'm twelve, not blind. Like I said, I'm not telling anybody."

"Well. Thanks." It meant a lot to him, and he couldn't have been more relieved.

"So you're not denying it then?"

"If you know, what's the point?"

"None, I guess." Alexei pushed the tray aside---he was done with the food, not with the conversation. "I'm happy for you guys. Really. Mama may not think much of you, but _I_ like you. I can tell you'll take care of her. Anya really likes you, you know."

Dimitri was amazed at how wise-beyond-his-years this kid sounded. It was as if he was the older brother instead of the baby of the family. Then again, it was easy for him to have this kind of conversation with Dimitri---partially because, at seventeen, he was just enough older than Alexei to be categorized as 'cool,' and partially because he wasn't a girl.

He could have dealt with any number of the compliments first, or any of the other things he'd just heard, but instead he found himself saying, "Anya? Do you call her that?" He was truly curious.

Alexei didn't seem to realize what he'd said. "Oh. That. No, I've never called her that---not to her face, anyway. Mama doesn't approve of nicknames, and if I got used to it she might catch me, and that'd be another lecture..." He trailed off.

Dimitri kind of liked the idea. "Would you mind if I used it?"

"Sure!" Alexei was actually thrilled that his 'cool big brother' wanted to use his idea. "Go ahead---I don't mind. Besides," he added with a snicker. "Mama already hates you anyway."

"Nowhere to go but up, then." Standing up, Dimitri realized the time, knowing his track record as a server was probably getting him nowhere in the eyes of the staff. He picked up the empty tray. "I should get back. Thanks."

"No problem." He watchd him go, but just as he was stepping out the door, Alexei thought of something he just couldn't resist adding. "Hey Dimitri?"

He stopped, and turned. "Yeah?"

The Tsarevich winked. "You better be good to my sister."

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"I can't believe you've never done this before. Why have we never done this?"

Anastasia squinted up at the sky from where she lay in the grass, hoping to glimpse something recognizable in one of the cottony white clouds. She turned her head just slightly, apparently expecting an answer.

Dimitri still couldn't see anything. "I have no idea. You're the mastermind."

"I can't beleive you let me go eight years without teaching you to cloud-spot. I feel useless as a teacher."

"How coud that possibly be _my_ fault?" he laughed.

"You had influence."

"So I was supposed to influence you to teach me to do something that I didn't even know _existed_?"

"Uh, yeah."

"That's not even possible."

"Oh, sure, _anything_ sounds impossible when you say it like _that_," she laughed back. "Now come on. Focus. What do you see?"

"All right, all right." Dimitri turned his attention back to the sky and made an honest attempt to play along, but he couldn't help it. All he could see were clouds. "I see...uh...cotton?"

She smacked his arm. "Doesn't count. Come on. Try."

"Fine." He gave it one last shot, finally spotting a good one. "Oh! That one." He pointed to it.

"Where?"

"Right there."

"What do you think it is?"

"It's a horse," he said, a little defensive just in case.

Anastasia squinted, turning her head to the side. "A horse?"

"Yeah---see, there's the four feet, there's the tail, and that poufy part is the head."

It took her a second, but as it turned out it wasn't hard to see what he saw. He was a fast learner, she noted---at least in most ways. "I see it! That _does_ look like a horse." Turning to face him, she gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you."

"Any time."

Suddenly her thoughts turned back to her life within the palace walls, and she panicked. "What time is it?" she asked, sitting up.

Dimitri took a look at his watch. "It's one twenty-five."

"Oh. Good." Anastasia breathed a sigh of relief and sank back down onto the grass. "Mama wants us all at tea at _exactly_ three o' clock, and I can't be late or she'll know where I was, and she'll start to get suspicious, and then..."

"Relax, Anya, she's not going to find out. Nobody has any idea."

It almost went unnoticed, but the girl caught the difference after a moment, and turned to him with a curious look. "I don't think I've ever heard you call me that before."

Dimitri just sort of shrugged. "You haven't. I was just thinking...I don't know. It could be _our_ thing, you and me."

With a big, sleepy grin, she scooched up close to him and used the arm he put around her as a pillow. "I like it," she replied, thinking that if she stayed in this moment for the rest of her life, she wouldn't be missing anything at all.

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It was strange, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face instead of steam from an industrial oven. Or the ground at your back instead of at your feet. Dimitri registered these things one by one as he awoke, but it was hard to comprehend---especially once he heard the soft breathing of the person next to him.

Slipping his arm from under her head and hers from across his chest, he sat up with a jolt and looked at his watch.

3:17.

"Anya! Wake up!"

She barely moved, and her response was groggy. "Huh, what's going on?"

"You're late---we fell asleep!"

"We fell _asleep?_" She sat up in a fraction of a second. "How could we fall _asleep? _What time is it?" Not bothering to wait for a response, she grabbed his wrist and read the stupid watch herself. "Oh no."

"Exactly."

"Oh no, no, no, no, _no!_" Anya was already on her feet, and after quickly swatting the grass from her skirt, she took off across the lawn. Dimitri was right behind her.

"Isn't there anything you can say that might get you off the hook?"

"No! She wouldn't believe it," she insisted over her shoulder.

"Anya---"

"It's okay! I'll figure something out." She was coming up fast on the window she'd slipped out of, but before ducking inside she stopped and ran back to Dimitri, leaving him with a kiss before darting back into the palace.

He stared after her for a moment, shaking his head, then he reluctantly truged back to his own open window in the service wing. _So much for being on time...._

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_Clink._

Maria's spoon hit the side of her cup for the hundredth time, adding at least _some_ sound to the otherwise silent room.

_Clink._

She couldn't help it. Fidgeting when nervous was a Romanov gene.

_Clink._

"Maria!" Tatiana hissed. "Stop that! You're making it worse!"

"Take it easy, governess. I just can't stand the waiting." Setting her spoon back on her impeccably folded napkin, she shot a nervous look around the near-empty table. "Why would she be this late? She _knows_ how mama gets."

"And _you_ know how _Anastasia_ gets," Olga reminded. "She'll---"

Midsentence, Anastasia flew into the room and slid into her seat, looking exhausted.

"---be here soon," Olga finished.

"Where _were_ you?"

"I'll explain later," the youngest duchess whispered. And then she noticed that the Empress' chair was still empty. "Where's mama?"

Tatiana took it upon herself to explain. "She's in the next room with Alexei. He had an episode just before three."

Anastasia's eyes went wide. "What? How bad is it? Is he okay?"

Olga rolled her eyes. "Oh, believe me, he's just fine."

"Huh? But you just said---"

"He started moaning and complaining at two fifty-nine sharp, when he noticed you weren't back yet."

"But---_why_?"

Maska sighed. This could go on all day. "He's _covering_ for you, stupid."

"We're pretty sure he knows about you and Dimitri."

"And we didn't say a _word_, either."

Anastasia was touched. She made a mental note to do something extra nice for her little brother at the first possible opportunity. Come to think of it, she _could_ hear a lot of convincing wailing coming from the next room.

As if rehearsed, all four girls tilted their chairs and peered through the arched doorway for a glimpse. Alexandra's back was to them, and she was fussing over the Tsarevitch with no end of concern. Alexei, in turn, was putting on one heck of a show.

Very, very discreetly, he made eye contact with Tatiana, who pointed to their now-present sister and mouthed the words "wrap it up." Alexei gave a tiny nod, and gradually let his cries of pain trail off. The girls put their best eavesdropping skills to work.

"What is it?" Alexandra was saying. "Oh, my poor baby, tell me, is the pain easing?"

"It's the strangest thing, mama---it just...it just _vanished_. I feel good as new. It must be a miracle. Honest."

This was a woman who took miracles seriously. _Very_ seriously. "Are you...are you positive?"

"Yes. I'm completely fine now."

"Well," Alexandra declared, straightening up, "praise be to God. Will you be fine to join your sisters and I for tea?"

"I'd like that, thank you."

Quickly the girls snapped their chairs back into place and tried to assume nonchalant, not-at-all-trying-not-to-laugh expressions, as the Empress and then Alexei walked into the room. Anastasia gave her brother a grateful smile as he took a seat, which he returned with a 'no problem' one. _That's what brothers are for._

"Well, girls," the Tsarina started, assuming her spot at one end of the table. "I apologize. I trust that you were all present on time?"

All four girls replied with a chorus of "Yes, mama" as the maid arrived and began to serve the tea. All five children traded a glance of pure relief.

"So what have you all been doing since this morning? Besides your studies of course."

"I was with you, mama," Alexei reminded, helping himself to a scone.

"Yes, dear, I know."

"I was picking flowers from the garden," Anastasia swiftly lied.

"I practiced the piano a bit," Maria chimed in.

"I finished the scarf I was knitting for papa," Tatiana added, proud of herself.

When Olga didn't answer in her usual turn, focusing instead on her tea, Alexandra addressed her personally. "What about you, Olga? Have you written a reply to Duke Harsdt's letter yet?"

Olga turned a few different shades of red. Her brother and sisters, though, were just trying not to laugh. Again. "I haven't had the time just yet," she informed the tablecloth.

Her mother frowned. "You realize you're at the age to pay attention to these things, Olga. Most girls your age are engaged already."

Olga had had it. She put down her teacup and sighed, "Oh, mama, why do you have to be in such a rush to marry me off? You _know_ that's not my priority."

"Whether you have interest at the moment or not, Olga Nicholaivna, it isn't the point. It's simply what's done."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she mouthed the words "help me" to the rest of the table.

Alexei was the first to pipe up in her defense, knowing the word of Baby would count for double that of anyone else. "I like that Olga lives with us, mama. I don't want her to get married either."

The eldest smiled affectionately at her baby brother as Anastasia and Mashka nodded their agreement.

"Exactly, mama," Tatiana added. "We can't all fall in love as easily as Anastasia. We'd have to get a much bigger staff for tha---"

Suddenly, Tatiana realized what she'd done, and threw a hand over her mouth. The room was dead silent, and everyone was staring at her in shock. Especially Anastasia.

"Tatiana!"

"I'm so sorry, Anasiasia, it was an accident, I swear---"

Maska and Olga managed to kick her under the table.

"You...have..._what?_" the Empress seethed, trying to remain calm, her gaze boring into the youngest daughter.

Anastasia kept her eyes down. "I'm sorry," she barely whispered.

"It's _him_, isn't it?" she demanded. "That servant?"

The girl nodded.

"How long have you been seeing that boy?"

"About a month."

Alexandra was really fuming now. Years of suspicion built up, and suddenly she couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't stop herself. "And you've been hiding this from us the whole time?"

She gave another weak nod in response, her face half-hidden by her matching hair. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Sorry? You're _sorry?_ Then you shouldn't have lied to us."

"I know, and I---"

"You _know_ the rules, Anastasia. There are ways these things are done. You have a life with many responsibilities and what you have done goes against every _one_ of them."

"But mama, please, I---"

"Not a word, young lady. Now you will have something to be sorry about. I hope you are proud of conducting yourself this way, because you and he can be sure that you are the reason he's lost his job. I can think of nothing else to do in this situation but resign the boy from his post."

"_What?_" _No, please, he can't get fired because of me...I'll never see him again..._

"I hate to do this, Anastasia, but you've left me no choice. I'm putting my foot down---this ends now. Excuse me." Leaving no room for argument, Alexandra stood up from her chair and stalked from the room.

Anastasia flew after her and followed her down the hall, but her pleas fell on deaf ears, and within minutes, the order had been delivered. A sympathetic awkward silence filled the dining room.

"Well," Maria said at last, drawing her remaining siblings' attention. "I'm glad I'm not Tatiana right now."

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**Uh-oh! :D Please please please review!**

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	8. Loathe Thy Neighbor

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**Tensions are high for a number of reasons... A few days later... Go on...**

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There had been nothing Nicholas could do. Nothing. The man could parent a country, could raise an army, could direct each play of a war. But this time, he was at a loss. A royal order was a royal order, and to counteract his wife's word would be to counteract his own.

It was done. Anastasia had tried everything, but he was gone.

Things had been tense for the past few days. Anastasia barely spoke with her mother. Anastasia and Tatiana weren't speaking at all. Nicholas had tried whatever he could to ease the tension, but any relief was only momentary. Olga, Maria and Alexei all agreed that, until somebody found a way to contact Dimitri, they'd better get used to silence.

For some reason, though, everyone was in the same room today. Over the course of the morning every member of the family had wandered into Mashka and Anastasia's room with a book or a newspaper or needlepoint or something; anything to keep them occupied but talking. "Family time" would find a way to be enforced, apparently, even if half the family could care less. So there they all sat, quiet as church mice.

By now, talking was an entirely unfamiliar sound, so all of them looked up when Tatiana said meekly, "Uh, Anastasia? Could you hand me that book by your elbow?"

Without looking up, Anastasia picked the book up by its binding and casually flung it in her sister's direction. Tatiana had to duck to avoid being hit in the face by the splayed pages of Tolstoy.

"Uh, thanks," she said sarcastically, retrieving it from the floor.

"Young lady, that is not how you grant a simple request," came Alexandra's voice.

"You wouldn't know anything about _that_, _would_ you," Anastasia muttered under her breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, mama," the duchess corrected.

"No," Alexandra started, putting down her embroidery, "I distinctly heard you muttering something and I insist on knowing what it was."

_Fine._ Anastasia shot up from her chair. "I said you wouldn't know anything about that. I asked you for one simple thing---"

"Anastasia---"

"---but _no_, that was too hard for you. What you did was cruel and unfair."

"You will not talk to me like that, I am your mother."

"I mean, what exactly was the problem? So _what_ if he's not some pompous millionaire archduke."

"I will not discuss this a second longer."

"So _what_ if I like him or love him or spend time with him. You had to _separate_ us for that? You took his _job_ away from him for that? I'm sorry I lied to you and Papa, but if you're too much of a snob to---"

"Enough!" the Empress cut in. "I won't tolerate this, young lady. You are out of line."

"You're _both_ out of line." This time it was Nicholas who spoke, and everyone took notice. "Does no one see that there's a problem here?" He looked around at each and every person in the room. "This is no way to live. Malenkaya, it upsets me that you felt you had to hide from us, but I feel badly about what happened and I'm only sorry I wasn't here to intervene. As for your sister, it was an accident, and she regrets it I'm sure."

Anastasia's eyes fell as Nicholas turned to Tatiana.

"And as for you, Tanushka, perhaps next time you'll try harder to keep private business private, hm?"

"Yes papa," she squeaked, also looking down.

"And Sunny," he began, turning to his wife, "I can't believe you would let class overshadow affection even for a moment. Did you not stop to think that the boy had nowhere else to go?" She started to speak up in her defense, but Nicholas kept going. "I understand your concern, but it's up to Anastasia to ensure she's taken care of. All right?"

The Tsar sat back down and turned to a new page in his newspaper as if nothing had just happened, and it became clear to the rest of the family that the speech was over.

Everyone was so preoccupied by each other's ashamed and apologetic expressions that nobody noticed how dark it was getting outside the window.

What they _did_ notice, though, was the chilling laughter that slowly engulfed them from all directions, jerking them from their thoughts.

"Papa, what's going on?" Alexei cried.

On the other side of the window, what looked like ghostly green dragons swirled back and forth in an ominous wall.

Nicholas was on his feet. "It can't be...." But it was. There was no other way. He made the decision without a second thought. "Quick, children---get out of the palace, run as fast as you can, and don't look back. Now!"

"But papa---"

"I said _now_, Olga."

But a tall, haggard form beat them to the door, with a face that could shock the soundest of mind.

"Going somewhere, comerade Romanov?"

The women shrank back to each other's sides, barely believing their eyes. Nicholas stepped forward, and so did Alexei, but Nicholas held him back.

He eyed the madman with a bitter, defiant glare. "Why have you returned to the palace?" he growled.

Rasputin laughed. "Only to finish what I began seven long years ago." For a moment he and the family were locked in a tense staring contest, but only a moment. He went on. "_Seven years_, _your majesty_. Seven years in a cell---caged, like an animal!" He laughed again to himself, confirming to the rest of them that he was probably mentally unstable. "You know, the whole trip, I spent my days thinking up the cruelest, most satisfying ways to kill you all. And I think I've finally settled on my favorite."

Suddenly Anastasia bolted out of her chair. "You can't _touch_ us! We're not afraid of you!"

From the recesses of one of the old monk's ragged sleeves came an arc of green light that threw the Grand Duchess to the ground.

"Anastasia!"

"Trust me, child," Rasputin grinned, revealing the old reliquary, "I can and will. But first, I'm sure you'd _love_ to hear my brilliant plan. Now then. There is no way out of this room. Every door and window has been sealed in a way that cannot be broken. You will know _every hour_ of the misery I lived during those seven _dispicable_ years. And at any time during these seven years, I may choose to kill you. That is if you haven't already died of thirst. Doesn't that sound fun?"

"You can't _do_ that," Olga challenged, her narrowed eyes masking her fear.

"I think," Rasputin concluded, "that you all are in for a _surprise_ as to what I can do."

At that, leaving no chance to react, there was a flash of smoke and darkness from the reliquary. When it cleared, there was nothing left of the unholy man but the dissipating echo of maniacal laughter.

"Everyone," Nicholas ordered, "try all the doors and windows. Break them if you have to."

Without a sound all seven of them raced to every possible exit, jimmying handles and bashing against glass, but to no avail. The room had become a prison, their first and last.

Alexandra was by far the worst at hiding her fear. "Nicky," she pleaded, "what are we going to do?"

Looking to each of his children, knowing that time was running out, Nicholas had no answer. "I don't know, Alix. I don't know."

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**Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Rasputin is back. Wondering why he didn't just kill them though? All in time. Keep in mind that the others in the palace have been gotten rid of...of course, since *somebody's* fired, he's not...in that situation. XD Let's see if class matters NOW. XD Big things coming, please review.**

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	9. You And What Army?

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**Wonder where Dimitri's been? Broke, that's where. X) Not quite resorting to conning yet, though. Yes, this is the same booth as the loud "exit visa" guy in the film, but without the exit visas. (No Soviet government.) Read on, because the clock starts ticking...**

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"Four tickets to Lithuania please."

With absolutely no expression and a very low percentage of mental consciousness, Dimitri ripped out the five-millionth book of tickets and slid it across the counter to the old woman. "Forty kopeks."

She paid up, then took what Dimitri could only assume were her grandchildren and left. He looked down the line, and was disgusted to find that it was as long as...well, the palace.

Sighing, he thought back to the week before as he sold two tickets to Poland to some short guy in a red suit. Oh, man, Kharitonov would be laughing to see him now. He'd sure had a good time lowering the boom, and downright had a party throwing Dimitri's belongings out the window. He didn't have a lot, but Dimitri decided he liked his stuff a lot better when it _wasn't_ all over the lawn.

Alexandra had to have found out somehow. It was ironic, in a way---eight years of screwing up on the job got him nothing, but all he had to do to get fired, apparently, was kiss the Grand Duchess.

So here he was, selling tickets and stamping travel papers, trying to afford a life and spending it thinking of her.

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"Aaahhh, this is the life."

Rasputin sprawled himself out on the largest throne in the empty ballroom, a place that now, like the rest of the palace, had been tainted with darkness by minions.

Bartok perched on the arm of the regal chair, deciding to take his boss' disposition at face value. "You see, master, what did I tell you? My idea wasn't so bad, eh?"

It had, after all, been at Bartok's persuasion that the family was imprisoned before killed. Rasputin had liked it because it sounded like a nice, suspenseful form of torture; the bat, however, was just hoping it would give his boss a chance to change his mind. Or chicken out. Or leave the country.

Rasputin was becoming impatient, though. "I'll admit it has its merits," he agreed, "but I may just kill them anyway."

"_What?_" Bartok literally fell from the arm of the throne, and it took a decent amount of struggling to get back up. "But...but what about the 'prison' thing? You know, suspense, no way out, just like what they did to you, yadda yadda yadda.... You _liked_ that stuff, remember?"

"Yes, but I've waited long enough, don't you think?" he sighed, quite melodramatic for such a cruel man.

Bartok thought fast. _Okay, uh, what can I say here.... Ah!_ "Why don't you give them 'till the end of the week?"

Rasputin's eyes landed on the little bat. "You think?"

"At _least_, master. You know, so they can...learn their lesson, or whatever your plan was there..."

The old monk stroked his beard as he mulled it over. "Well...they don't know when it's coming, after all. Yes," he decided, growing to like the idea, "let's let them fear my power for just a while longer. Then, come Friday, I'll destroy them!"

"Or not!" Bartok muttered.

"What was that?"

"No, no, absolutely, I'm on board with the whole...destroying process. Big fun, there, sir. Wouldn't miss it."

Satisfied, but only for now, Rasputin turned away and tried to catch a nap. Bartok, on the other hand, wished he could be back in the tropics for a little while. This, he knew, would not end well.

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After the fifth hour, Dimitri was so bored he found himself listening in on a conversation between two aging gossips down the line. He made a mental note that it couldn't possibly get lower than this.

"I'm telling you, Rasputin is back," the one in the cloak was saying.

"It can't be!" her friend gasped.

"It's true---haven't you seen the bizzare haze surrounding the palace? The family is still inside."

"Oh, God help us..."

"Just the time to leave the country..."

Dimitri stopped listening. He stopped breathing, too, but that one had to end eventually.

Was it true? Was she okay? How long had they been trapped in there? How long did they have left?

"Excuse me."

Dimitri looked up. He'd completely forgotten he had customers.

"One ticket to Paris, please," the large, bearded man in front of him said.

"Yeah, sure." But his mind was elsewhere.

Until, that is, he had to stamp the guy's travel papers, and caught the words "member of the Imperial Court" on his identification.

Forgetting all about the ticket, he looked back at the guy, who was understandably confused and really just wanted to leave. "You're on the Imperial Court?"

"Well, yes, but I really don't see what that has to do with my ticket..."

Dimitri decided this was his chance. Hopping over the counter and out of the booth, he hung the 'closed' sign on the front before leading the guy off to the side. The line of people grumbled, complained and left in different directions, but Dimitri didn't care---he probably would have gotten fired from this job too, anyway.

"Listen," he started, "I'm not just some guy selling tickets here, okay? Well, I mean I _am_, but---that's not the point. My name is Dimitri, I used to work at the palace. You're loyal, right?"

The man nodded, wondering where this was going. "I would do anything for the Tsar and his family."

"Have you heard about what happened?"

He shook his head. "What? Are they all right?"

"They will be if I can get to them in time." Dimitri took a peek at the travel papers that were still in the guy's hand to catch a glimpse of his name. "Listen, Vladimir---"

"Vlad."

"---Vlad, I need your help. I need to get into the palace but I can't do it alone. Something really, _really_ bad is going to happen to the Romanovs if somebody doesn't stop it, and I can't let that happen. I'll explain it all on the way---are you with me?"

"Excuse me, son," Vlad replied, "but what makes you think you can do any good? If the Tsar needs help, we should be calling in the armed forces, raising a batallion, not sending in a...a...how old _are_ you, anyway?"

"Seventeen, but that's not the point either. A whole _army_ wouldn't work against this guy. I'm the only one who can help her."

"Her?"

"Them," he corrected, tired of talking in circles. "Look, it's not for me, it's for them. But I'm going with or without you."

"I thought you said you couldn't do it alone."

Dimitri's gaze said he didn't care.

Vlad sighed. "All right. Tell me what I need to do."

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**Ha! Betcha didn't see that coming. Vladdy's on his way! XD Let's see...a seventeen-year-old smartmouth and a big tubby dude against the forces of pure evil. Should be interesting...XD Reviews please. **

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	10. Wanna Bet?

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**Same day. Sorry for the delay, I _hate_ being the person who says they'll update and then takes a week to post one chapter. Agh. Anyway, you've arrived at the big make-or-break one...read away....**

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"You mean you didn't have a _plan?_"

Vlad's disbelieving question came from where he crouched on the safe side of the palace gate---after all, who knew what measures Rasputin had gone to to keep the captives captive? Dimitri was right beside him, and he didn't look amused.

"I'm working on it, okay?"

"I can't believe you don't have a plan."

He gestured to his beggar's clothes and to the evil-drenched palace. "Do I _look_ like a guy who plans things?"

"I mean, you don't just rush into a dangerous situation like this without a plan."

"_Will you quit with the plan?_"

Dropping the conversation, Dimitri slid over just a little and peered through the wrought-iron gate to the enormous palace on the other side. It looked a lot darker than usual, and it looked as if all the doors and windows had been welded shut. There was no way in or out---no way but one.

He sat back down. "All right, we need a plan."

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None of them had spoken. Nicholas had asked them if anyone had any ideas, and that was five minutes ago, and no one had said a word.

Finally Anastasia lifted her head from the desk. "What about Dimitri?"

The rest of the kids were silent, knowing he'd come running if he only knew. But would it be enough? Alexandra, however, looked doubtful.

"Now, sweetheart, I don't think that's going to happen. He's no match for Rasputin. It would be suicide to even _think_ of going up against that unholy fraud." Her discrimination toward the boy had diminished somewhat, but as much as she prayed to be rescued, she secretly hoped it would be by _anyone_ else.

"We have to hold on to what hope we can," Nicholas reasoned, and tore the Wednesday sheet from the calendar.

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Rasputin looked intently into the orb of green smoke that poured from the reliquary. The sweet little "family" scene he'd just witnessed made his revenge all the more perfect.

"I know your secret, princess," he murmured. "It will be most entertaining to watch you watch him die." The old monk focused all his thoughts on the reliquary. "Show him to me. Show me the boy."

The circle of fog dissipated for a split second, then swirled back to life, this time playing a new image. He saw an older man first, and then the younger one came into view, exactly as he expected.

"Perfect," Rasputin cooed. "So, boy, what do you value more? The princess, or your life? Hurry. The clock is ticking. For both of you."

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"Remember, when I get in there, you stay by the ballroom and whistle if he's coming. Create a distraction if you have to."

Vlad gave Dimitri---who was in the middle of prying open one of his old sneak-out exits in the back paneling---a sour look. "_That's_ the brilliant plan? The man is a...a _demon_, and you're suggesting I be the lookout."

"Yep. Unless you've got a better idea."

Vlad thought about that, then began to pull at the wall panel in resignation. "Let me help you with that."

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There was nothing to do but wait. Not anymore. Sure, they could have occupied themselves with any number of the amenities in the girls' room, but their concerns went beyond just boredom now. So all they did was wait. Wait to be rescued, or wait for the unthinkable---which, conveniently, nobody thought about. At least out loud.

After a while there was a noise, one that no one could identify. All seven Romanovs looked up---a noise like that in these circumstances could only mean either impending danger or salvation.

It was the latter. At the far end of the room, the family was shocked to see a section of the paneling being cracked from the other side. When the wall opened, their last hope entered the room.

"Dimitri!" Anastasia was the first on her feet. She bounded over to him and threw her arms around him; she would have kissed him, too, but her mother was right there, and she didn't want to kill her. "How did you---"

"I'll explain everything later," Dimitri interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her. "Everybody come with me _right_ now."

"You have my gratitude, son," Nicholas said with a nod, and without hesitation every Romanov headed for the hidden exit.

But as Dimitri helped Tatiana, then Maria into the wall, he heard a long, sharp whistle. He didn't need a sense of direction to know it was coming from the ballroom.

"Hurry! He's coming."

The family doubled their speed, and soon Olga, Alexei, and Anya disappeared safely into the black corridor, though Anya was hesitant to go without him, or her parents. A good shove and a "Go" was quick to change that.

Alexandra had been in frail health, so Dimitri and Nicholas assisted her in bending to fit the small space. Before she followed her children, she turned to Dimitri. "If we live through this, remind me to thank you."

"You can thank me later."

A terrible roar of angered minions was filling the palace---clearly Rasputin was onto them, and was wasting no time on the element of surprise. No, he was coming---and he wanted it known.

Nicholas stepped back. "Go. Hurry."

But Dimitri didn't budge. For the first time in his pathetic servant's life, he stood tall, and looked his Tsar in the eye. "_No_ sir."

Nicholas didn't quite know what to make of this. Still, he wasn't about to let the gesture be in vain. "Thank you," he said before following his family to safety, and he meant it more than he could say. Dimitri went in after him, and quickly pulled the wall back into place.

"Keep going straight until you see an opening," he shouted ahead to Tatiana.

"Where are _you_ going?"

"I've got a stop to make. Don't worry, I can handle it." At that, he took a different tunnel, and ran until he came to yet another secret entrance.

Pushing _this_ wall open, he stuck just his head into the room and looked around. "Vlad!" he whisper-shouted. "Vlad!"

Out of nowhere, Vlad came tearing back into the room as fast as his legs would take him. He almost toppled Dimitri over barreling back into the wall.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Let's just say _getting out of here_ would be the first idea."

Right on Vlad's heels, it turned out, appeared a cloud of the little green minions, and they did _not_ look happy.

"You were supposed to cause a _distraction_!"

"This _is_ the distraction!"

Dimitri slammed the wall back into place, and he and Vlad took off down the corridor. At last, they came up on the light at the end of the tunnel, and both of them crashed out into the yard.

The Romanovs were right there waiting, and Nicholas looked down to discover Vlad in an upside-down heap. "Count Vladimir?"

Vlad scrambled to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes, trying to get even a shred of his dignity back. "Ahem. Your majesties."

"Come on," Dimitri interrupted. "We have to get out of---"

He didn't get to finish that sentence. Above them, a terrible haze was swirling around the palace, and behind them, a chilling voice stopped them cold.

"Going so soon? But the party's just getting started."

Bartok had been on his shoulder up 'till this point, but now he flew off and perched safely on a gargoyle. "You're on your own sir! This can only end in tears!"

The ragged old monk glared his cruel glare at the nine before him. "You think you can escape _me_?" he challenged. "We'll _see_ about _that_."

He raised the hand with the reliquary high into the air, the dark creatures within shot in every direction, and before anyone could blink, the gargoyles and statues around the edge of the roof began to move. Like angered lions, they leapt for the ground and stalked in the direction of the royal family.

"Now, _Romanovs_, you will meet your end," Rasputin cackled, and to top it off, he aimed the reliquary once more. Dimitri fell to his knees, choked by a rope of minions. "You _and_ your loyal servants!"

"No!"

Failure seemed imminent. The Romanovs were surrounded like hunted prey in its last moments; Vlad was pinned to the ground; and for Dimitri, everything was going dark fast. Above them, Bartok couldn't watch.

The Tsar was lost. He couldn't protect his children from this, much as he wished he could. Anastasia could see that just by glancing at them in that slowed-down moment in time, huddled together in a mass of despair.

She wasn't ready to go. Or to watch her family be destroyed, or to lose the one whose pain right now was the number one reason she wanted to kick Rasputin where it counted. She wasn't ready, but there was no way out of this.

Especially if nobody tried.

Time sped back up. Rasputin, it seemed, was finally living the dream. "Long live the Romanovs!" he managed to laugh.

"Right!" He stopped laughing. He looked. "I couldn't have said it better myself!"

Thinking fast, Anastasia picked up a rock from the ground, slightly smaller than a baseball, and threw it as hard as she could, praying to hit her mark. Rasputin watched, horrified, as it smashed into his precious reliquary, shattering it into a cloud of smoke and glass.

"_No!_"

All around them was dark light and deafening noise. The gargoyles began to crumble into chunks of stone, split apart by rays of orange beaming out from within. The minions from the reliquary swirled into a skyward funnel around Rasputin, and the others could only watch in disbelief as their one enemy screamed his last, writhed and dissolved away. All was calm once more.

When the dust cleared, literally, Anastasia broke away from her shaken but otherwise unharmed family, ran to where Dimitri lay unconscious, and dropped to her knees beside him. The rest of them followed her and stood back with concern, staying silent.

"Dimitri," Anya was saying. "Come on, Dimitri, wake up."

It didn't look like he would. But just as the rest of them began to expect the worst, he coughed. Anya had never been so grateful for a cough in all her life.

With a groan, he started to sit up, and the second he did she sprang forward and threw her arms around his neck.

"Ow ow ow ow ow, let go let go..."

"Sorry." She moved back just as fast.

"What you've done today was very brave," Nicholas said. "You risked your life for us. I couldn't be more grateful."

Alexandra took a tentative step forward. There was something she wanted to ask, and she wasn't so sure how to do it. Maybe starting now, she decided, would be a good time to work on these things. "Why would you do something like that?"

Dimitri was just concentrating on getting up off the ground. He was done pretending to be something he wasn't. "Either I'm in love with your daughter or I _really_ want my job back," he stated, plain and simple.

_No_ one had seen _that_ coming. "What?"

"Yeah, _what?_" Anya echoed, and then she lowered her voice. "Did you just say what I think you just said?"

"Yeah," he answered, getting to his feet, "I did." He was prepared to be banished if neccesary, to walk out of that yard forever.

Anya stood up too. Suddenly it didn't matter that her whole family was watching them. Her eyes never left his for a second.

"I love you too."

There was only a second more of silence, and then; "Anastasia!"

She whirled around at the sound of her mother's voice, expecting to find her fuming mad, 'how-dare-you,' blah blah blah. Instead, to her surprise---to _everyone's_ surprise---Alexandra was smiling.

"For heaven's sakes, dear, _kiss_ the boy."

This time, the girl was more than happy to follow her mother's orders.

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**Phew! That's a lot to happen in one chapter. Finally the psycho's gone, nobody's dead, and at last Alexandra approves. X) But we're not done yet. Two chapters to go. Stay tuned, and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!! =)**

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	11. Always Been, Always Will Be

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**Time jump alert. Nine years will have passed now. A/D = 24 & 26, her sisters are 30, 28 and 26, and Alexei is 21. Remember, it was said that if he'd lived past 17 he would have outgrown his hemophilia...maybe he does, maybe he doesn't.... The rest of this one pretty much explains itself, so...get started...! **

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The sun was setting, spirits were high, and the ballroom of the Catherine Palace was once again filled with a joyous, dancing crowd.

Her highness Marie Feodorovna had returned from Paris for this special occasion, and she sat now on her throne on the platform, awaiting the arrival of the Tsar. When he entered, the people stopped dancing and took notice, but the music kept playing---this was a happy day.

"Alexei, darling," Marie beamed, hugging her grandson. "You look so handsome! The very image of your father."

Alexei straightened his sash and gave a quick wave to his people. "Thanks, grandmama. They're not here yet, are they?"

"Not yet, dear, not yet."

Marie walked off to mingle a bit with the guests. From out of the crowd, Olga, Tatiana, and Maria appeared on the platform, and ran up to their little brother, who was ironically now taller than they were. Ever since he was seventeen and the hemophilia had left him, he'd shot up like a weed.

"They're not here yet, are they?" Tatiana asked in a hurry.

"No, not yet."

The next to join the group were a slightly graying Nicholas and Alexandra, whose first question was, of course, "They're not here yet, are they?"

"Ugh," Mashka sighed, "will people stop asking that question? They'll _get_ here when they _get_ here!"

"When who gets here?"

The new Tsar, the three duchesses and their parents all turned around at the sound of Anastasia's voice. After all, except for at Alexei's coronation, they hadn't heard it in a year, since the wedding.

The three girls squealed with joy and tackled their sister up in a big group hug, then their brother-in-law, then the whole thing pretty much turned into one big hug assembly line.

"You're back! Happy first anniversary!" Olga said. "How was the big adventure?"

"Oh, it was great," Anya told them. "We went _everywhere_. I'll tell you later."

There were a few more moments of mother-daughter-sister catching up, during which Alexei, Dimitri and Nicholas exchanged friendly handshakes and shuffled around staring at their shoes. _Women._

Finally Anya changed the subject. "So what's this whole party about? Your letter just said to dress up---it's not for the coronation, is it? That was two months ago."

"Surprise!" Maria looked proud of herself. "It's for you! Welcome home you guys!"

"Really? You're _kidding_!"

"Nope," Olga replied, "and we got you something, too."

"Aw, you didn't have to do that."

Olga stepped off the platform, and when she returned, she held a small, scrappy grey dog in her arms.

"Uh, wow," Dimitri added. "You really didn't have to do that."

"He's really friendly. You can call him whatever you want. He's a rescue," Tatiana explained. "He's all yours." Noticing her brother-in-law's hesitation, though, she grinned, and added, "Unless you don't think you can _handle_ it, Dimitri."

"_Handle_ it? _Me_?" Dimitri waved the idea off. "_Please_. I just spent a year traveling around Europe with your sister."

"Oh, so are you saying you're sick of me?" Anya joked in return.

"Now, your grace, what kind of idiot would I be if _that_ were true?"

Tatiana turned to whisper something to Maria at that point, and from the corner of his eye, Dimitri recognized Vlad out on the dancefloor with a large blonde woman. He waved, and Dimitri waved back, smiling as he recalled what brought them here.

"Okay, okay," Olga started, drawing attention back to the group. "Remember how I said I had something to tell you that I wanted to say in person?"

Anya nodded. "Yes."

Olga held up her hand, and for once, there was actually an engagement ring on it.

"Oh my God!"

Anya moved to hug her sister, but Olga motioned for her to wait. "Not yet."

She cast a knowing glance at Tatiana. She, too, held up a hand.

"Oh my _God_!" This time she delayed the hug herself. "Now?"

Tatiana shook her head. "There's a little more."

Anya looked to Maria in surprise. "Not you too?"

But Mashka just nodded, and the ring she showed off shone almost as brightly as the smile on her face.

"I can't _beleive_ this! Now?"

"Now." The other three nodded again and piled into a heap of Grand Duchess.

"Really, congratulations," Dimitri agreed, then swiftly changed the subject. "Now about the dog...."

Never in his life had four women rolled their eyes at him at once. A new record.

Anya leveled with the puppy in question. "Hi, there, Pooka. That's your new name, okay? Pooka."

"That's not even a word," Dimitri scoffed.

"It's cute."

"We cannot get a _dog_."

"And why is that?"

"I'm allergic to dogs."

"You are _not_."

"Just think, Dimitri," Tatiana cut in, borrowing her sister's teasing look. "This will be good practice for when you two have a baby!"

Dimitri choked on his oxygen. It was a good thing he hadn't taken a drink of anything.

Anya smiled. "Relax, you've got a few years. Besides, I don't have time to argue about this with you. _I_ have three weddings to help plan." Turning her deviousness toward her brother, she added, "And Alexei, if you're looking for a Tsarina I can fix you up with someone. We met a few really nice princesses in Wales..."

The Tsar took a few steps backward. "Hey, I _just_ got the job, okay?"

"Oh, come on, Alexei," teased Maria. "Don't pretend those diplomat girls don't think you're cute."

Desperate to stop being the focus, he pointed at Dimitri. "I'm on his side."

"_Thank_ you."

"Oh, sure," Maria muttered, "aren't you always? _Men_."

He tried again. "I am not living with a dog..."

"Aww, you're so cute," Anya cooed to the mutt, ignoring her husband completely. "You know, it's too bad---now I'll have to get rid of Dimitri."

"Gee, what a shame," Tatiana deadpanned.

"He can sleep in the yard," Olga offered, continuing the sarcastic chain of not helping.

Interrupting what some would call the fun and what others would call the cruel and unusual punishment, Vlad bustled over to join the group. He intended his first words to be 'welcome home,' but he proved easily distracted. Instantly he zeroed in on the furball. "My goodness, well who is _this_?"

"This is Pooka. Say hi, Pooka," Anya introduced, waving the dog's small paw in Vlad's direction.

"Is he yours?" Vlad asked as she passed the puppy into his arms.

"Yep." Dimitri gave her a look, and she responded in a mature, adult manner. She stuck her tongue out when no one was looking.

But shortly, the talking died down, and the music rose, and something changed. A new mood fell over them like an old memory, and only Anastasia realized why: Marie was smiling at them from over by the band, and sent her granddaughter a kiss, as "Once Upon A December," the Romanov lullaby itself, filled the palace ballroom.

Soft smiles came over their faces. They'd all seen and heard the music box a thousand times. They knew what it meant. Not just 'Together In Paris,' but together. Anywhere. Always.

Wordlessly, Nicholas held out his hand to Alexandra. As they drifted out onto the floor, Tatiana followed with Alexei. Vlad bowed to both Olga and Maria, and linking arms, they too disappeared to the music. And then there were two.

"Well, your grace..." Dimitri offered her his hand, and she took it. "Since everyone else seems to think it's a good idea..."

She laughed that laugh of hers. "Oh, shut up."

Reaching her arms around his neck, she moved in close enough for him to kiss her, and being no idiot, he did. When the music took them, it floated them into the crowd, swirling into the center of the mass of celebrating family and friends, comerades and citizens. It only went to illustrate the fact they knew all along: that here, with each other, they'd never be alone.

And with family like this, sometimes literally.

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**XD XD XD Yay! Such a fun chapter for me. And we get to see Pooka at last (thanks for the idea starter, Britney), and even a glimpse of Sophie, if you caught it. Finally, a happy ending for _all_ the Romanovs. Or possibly a perfect beginning.... ;D PLEASE review, and THANK YOU to those of you who put detail. Nothing helps me more than knowing WHAT you liked. One chapter to go. **

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	12. That's The Way It Is

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**And here it is, a MONTH later, the FINAL chapter of my first sequel. *Whew.* You know the drill by now, Mikey's gotta wake up.... Without further ado.... Enjoy.**

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The music began to fade. The ballroom turned slowly into an empty black void. Gradually, he felt a pair of eyes open.

_Oh yeah,_ Mikhail remembered. _They're mine_.

Sitting up in his own pitch-black room, he decided this was _just too good_ to wait until morning.

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Down the hall, all was dark and quiet, as was usual for four in the morning. Dimitri lay with Anya next to him, and she'd substituted his chest for a pillow and his left arm for a blanket, as was usual for four in the morning. Both were as asleep as could be, again, usual for four in the morning.

But then the door burst open, and _that_ was not usual for four in the morning at _all_.

"Mom! Dad! Mom! Dad!"

Never had two comatose people sat up faster.

Dimitri rubbed his eyes, straining to see the clock. "Mikey...?"

"It happened! I saw it! I had that dream! I _told_ you!"

"Well, since we're all _awake_..." Anya crossed her legs and got comfortable. "Do you want to tell us about it?"

"No," Dimitri grumbled under his breath. Anya elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow!---uh, yeah, Mikey, what's up?"

Mikey bounded up onto the foot of the bed, and the two of them listened patiently to the whole story, from beginning to end. By the time the boy finished his enthusiastic narration, it was obvious he was fighting to stay awake.

Tasha appeared in the doorway, looking tired---she shared her mother's inability to sleep through nuclear war. "What's going on?"

All Mikhail managed to yelp was "I _told_ you, Tasha!" before his whole face was hijacked by a giant yawn.

"I think somebody needs a little more sleep," Anya observed.

"I'll take him back," Tasha offered. "Vas-y, mon petit frère." Forgetting to protest, Mikey yawned again, slipped off the comforter, and joined his sister back down the hall, dragging the door shut behind them.

Dimitri lay back down. Anya followed, but not all the way. She stayed propped up on one elbow, absorbed in thought. "Do you think...do you think, maybe, there was a way to...for that to happen? Something we just didn't see? What if papa...." She let herself trail off. Dimitri just smiled a little, and held her, and she let herself do that too.

"Anya. You know your dad did everything he could," he assured.

"Yeah. I guess I know." They both lay back down just as they had been before their son had entered. "But it would have been nice..." She lost herself in the idea, and she smiled.

"But you know what?"

"Hm?"

Gesturing to their modest house---by extension to their children, to them, to Vlad, to Marie and Sophie and the city of Paris---Dimitri knew she'd get it. "This isn't bad either."

As she followed him into sleep, she did get it, and she had to agree. No. It wasn't bad at all.

There was just one last question. "Hey, Dimitri?"

"Yeah."

"Do _you_ remember a bat?"

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**XD XD XD (After all, if he's telling his dream detail by detail, he's gonna mention Bartok, whom during the movie they never actually noticed...) X) THANK YOU to everyone who read this story and its prequel faithfully---I BEYOND appreciate it! I hope you liked them as much as I loved working on them. As for the question: will there ever be a third installment? I didn't say "no," _did_ I? ;D Please review (seperate reviews if you get the chance; I still appreciate reviews of multiple chapters on one review but it doesn't tell me as much. Thank you). Peace and love.**

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